


Sonder

by littleberd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, Horcruxes, Ignotus is special, M/M, Master of Death, bit of all sorts of theories here, there's far more going on than believed, trust me the twist will be beautiful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleberd/pseuds/littleberd
Summary: There once were three brothers, who thought to outwit death when he was sworn to give a wish to any who could traverse past his river.The eldest, in his arrogance, wished for superior power over others through a stick of magic. He was murdered, for the wands loyalty was never to him.The second, in his grief, wished for a way to summon his beloved back to him. He committed suicide, for his wife did not belong in this world and was never herself, it felt like she was dying all over again.The last... the last was different. For he did notfeardeath. He did not seek power, and he did not really want for anything he could not gain with his own two hands. But most importantly the last was observant, and clever. After all, by crossing the river that surely would have killed them had it not been because of their magic... death would have had them.'I wish to be able to evade you, for you'll surely follow after us and claim our souls once we leave this place.'
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. Death

There was once three brothers, who thought to outwit death when he was sworn to give a wish to any who could traverse past his river.

The eldest, in his arrogance, wished for superior power over others through a stick of magic. He was murdered, for the wands loyalty was never to him.

The second, in his grief, wished for a way to summon his beloved back to him. He committed suicide, for his wife did not belong in this world and was never herself, it felt like she was dying all over again.

The last... the last was different. For he did not _fear_ death. He did not seek power, and he was not so selfish as to make others suffer. But most importantly the last was observant, and clever. After all, by crossing the river that surely would have killed them had it not been because of their magic... death would have had them.

'I wish to be able to evade you, for you'll surely follow after us and claim our souls once we leave this place.'

Ignotus Peverell was given the cloak by death, who though he reached with skeletal claws, could not grasp what he could not see. Believing himself safe he became his constant companion. Often following the being and trying his damnedest to cure the loneliness he saw there. After many years, he had done the impossible. Ignotus Peverell had been endeared to Death itself.

Upon the time when Ignotus knew he was ripe to be reaped and aged beyond what was healthy, Death was saddened. For once Ignotus made it to the end of his journey... he would be lost to the wheel of reincarnation. For all souls looked the same to him, and when he'd come to reap him again, he would not be recognized. So Death did what he has never been known to do...

He favored a soul. His first gift was the creation of a spell that would sever the soul from the body painlessly. 

_**Evada Cadavra** _

And so, Death plucked the man's soul and kept it as a companion. But souls do not talk, and without the revitalization of reincarnation, where soul's burdens are lifted and reguvinated, it's brightness waned. And this grey little glowing ball, darkening round it's edges, caused yet another first... Death, was terrified.

So Death began to plan, and plot. A great scheme came about that would ensure Ignotus' immortality. Though it came with risks, Death was willing to take them.

ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ

Tom Marvolo Riddle has always known death followed him. Since the moment of his birth he knew, an eiditic memory helped him recall the first he had seen _IT_. He saw a dark robed visage whilst in his pitiful dying mother's arms, the reflection the being cast in her lifeless grey eyes.

Growing up in the decrepit orphanage offered bare sheets and a freezing breeze. The matron barely clothed them and most often left him and many others starving, it was enlightening to his situation. _Death hovers around me because I will die soon... in this wretched hell._

And soon, when such thought's brought out his frustration and fear, his paranoia and anger, so too did strange things begin to happen, unexplainable small little _coincidences_. That had they not been so patterned, it would not be obvious that Tom's emotions were the cause.

Beloved knicknacks of the bullies in the orphanage would disappear or be ripped to shreds when no one was around them. The matron's skirt had caught fire when she had denied food to him when he was clearly the victim in fights, nary a candle in sight. Those who rudely brushed against him would scream in their sleep that very night. The lollipop a child by the crosswalk was holding while their other hand held their parents' would pop into his hand.

Small things, little things. But when he added up the tally in his head, he knew the truth. He was different, special. The other children were not. Perhaps that was why Death, with it's gooseflesh caresses and shadow-like behavior was his constant companion. And a thought struck him. 

_Perhaps... it is not here to reap me... but reap those around me..._

It was a hope more than a thought; after all, Tom was but a miserable child who constantly had his mortality bullied into him and digested in his otherwise empty stomach.

There wasn't much he could claim as his, and that hope was one such thing he could call his own, clutching it close and protecting it with a zealous passion. Being raised in the orphanage made him grow greedy, for if he didn't take, then someone, undoubtably unworthy, would.

ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ

Time skip

Harry is bored, his mum had abandoned him in his crib to start dinner and left to his own devices whilst his father was somewhere downstairs, no doubt reading the quidditch column he was overly fond of in the Daily prophet.

Harry decided he would be going on a sea adventure with his favorite Mr. Ig, a white plushie bunny with grey splothes that would constantly move around, much how a lava lamp. They were battling the giant sea serpent when there was a crash and a scream. Harry could smell the dark magic, like a too rich perfume wafting into the nursery. Running, tripping foot steps scrambling up the stairs had Harry tilting his head in curiosity. His mother staggered in, reaching for her son. But the soft steady footfalls of an oxford shoe clicked crisply on the wooden stairs, getting closer and louder just as his own mother's heart beat as he was clutched to her chest, wand shaking in her trembling hand.

She became rigged as a man walked with a graceful gait into the room.

He was tall, and slimly muscled. A stray ebony lock coiffed to the side in a styled manner. High cheek bones and light pink lips curled into a genteel smile, almost angelic. But his eyes gave him away, slitted like a snakes and a glowing red, twin flames flickering with power. He looked at the two languidly, the wand in his hand cradled and pointed towards his mother, as if it were just a harmless stick in his hand. The dark magic Harry could see coming off of it in droves spoke otherwise.

"St-stay away from my SON!" Lily whispers, scared but determined. 

The man sighed but shook his head, what most would recognize as genuine melancholy, "I'm afraid I cannot, dear Mrs. Potter. And though it saddens me to reach such a low as to kill an infant, at least I can promise it will be painless. I do not enjoy the suffering of children. Your husband I killed out of neccessity. He raised his wand against me and his death was of his own devising. But someone cherishes you enough to have begged you be spared... you do not have to die tonight Lily... But the amount of blood on my hands I walk away with tonight depends on you."

"No, he's a child! What could he possibly do against you!?!" Lily cries, pleading with her eyes, "Please, spare him!"

"He is the child of the prophecy. It is not what he can do it is what he might _potentially_ do. Alive, he is a risk I cannot take, though it pains me more than you know to go through with this, it must be done. Step away from the boy Lily Evans-Potter. My mercy is not unconditional, I cannot grant it if you stand in my way."

"M-my lord please! Trilawny is a fraud! We all know she gave th-that prophecy drunk and at a job interview no less... please... please don't-"

"The witness to her prophecy would speak otherwise, Dumbledore is not known to entertain charlatons. My patience is growing thin woman. I will only offer mercy once more and if you do not take it you will perish with the child."

Lily takes one last shakey breath, before leveling her wand at the murderer. The man sees it for what it is. The Lioness denies him a third time... she would protect her cub to the death it seems.

The man lowers his head, "I see you cannot see reason. I will kill you first then, so you will not have to see your child die. **_Evada Cadavra_** "

The green glass refracting charge of the spell hits true, striking Mrs. Potter in the head, but not quite fast enough to completely stop her scream, only cut it short as she falls limply to the carpet, her last act of protection for her son was falling on her back so as not to harm her son still cradled in her arms.

Harry doesn't look at his mother, who he thinks is sleeping, instead following a bright grey little glowing ball as it flutters around the room before phasing through the ceiling. Then his attention is back on the man. Harry crawls towards him, stopping a foot away and wobbly standing. He holds up Mr. Ig and tries to give him to the man.

"You're crying. Missster Ig'll make you feel better."

The man startles at the boys words, not having realized there were tears trailing down his cheek. The man reluctantly takes the plushie, before examining his would be murderer.

"Thank you young man... and what is your name?" The murderer crouches down, eye level with the boy fate dictated he murder in cold blood.

"I'm Harry, and what's your name?" Harry asks shyly, wringing his shirt. The man sees the boy is beautiful, dark locks of hair framing a face he knew would sharpen into aristocracy, and eyes that reminded him guiltily of the very same killing curse he'd be casting on the boy in a few moments.

The man bites his lip, hand ruffling the silky locks and cuppping the babe's cheek in a shaking carress. "You-you may call me Tom sweet Harry... Could you close your eyes for me darling?"

Harry smiles and nods, closing his eyes with only the trust one so young can give to complete strangers, "Are we going to be playing a game Mister Tom? Like hide and seek?"

Tom stands, trembling at the innocence he will be guilty of killing and twisting tonight. "Yes... how far can you count?"

Harry giggles in excitement, "I can count to three! I turned three this year!"

Guilt drags it's claws through the man, but his resolve never waivers. Because this boy is just one innocent... and he's taken many. Never one so young but there were far more innocence that would suffer if he did not complete his goal. "All right, count to three, but at the end take a deep breath out ok?"

"One."

"Two"

"Three"

" _ **Evada Cadavra**_ "

But we all know who dies that night.

Harry Potter is whisked away from the house he once knew as home. Shipped off to the muggle relatives that see him as a freak and with great reluctance, take him in. What many do not find out until much later, is what Harry left with that night.


	2. Hunger

The cupboard door slams shut. Hearing the multiple locks slam into place Harry curls in on himself. Bruises throbbing painfully through his threadbare clothes. His spine a knobby stem baring smatterings of smudged blooming black and blue flowers. The old ones' petals fading a dying brown or sickly green. His heaving ribs, no better, and his hands clenched with the strain of quieting the sobs that will only cause him more pain. Whether from the muscles under the ugly blossoms being disturbed and pain wracking through his body or disturbing the Dursley's enough to warrant more beatings.

The scrap of cloth Petunia dares call a blanket quickly wrapped around him snuggly with a simple thought of _need_ , without a hand raised it had gently slithered round him into a barely there embrace, mindful of the injuries. His hands dig into the very back corner behind the little piece of wood he's managed to dig the nails out of, a secret cubby hole that the Dursley's wouldn't find. The seat cushion he had managed to steal from the neighbor without getting caught was stuffed inside. 

His other treasure is there as well, a little stuffed rabbit. The only thing he can recall being his in his earliest memory. Although he's rather more of a dust bunny, having never been washed since becoming the ward of the Dursley's. Sometimes, he swear that some of the patches move about like dark storm clouds, or the rippling of a curtain in the wind.

He cradles it close, the soft dirty fur tickling his nose. But every night, without fail, he falls asleep as the scar on his forehead brushes against the velvety ears and counts...

"One"

"Two"

"Three"

"Goodnight Tom"

His stomach never growls, no matter how many days he's refused the most basic of food, but his heart always longs for something... he just doesn't know what it wants. And somehow, that makes his heart hunger more.

ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ

The pangs in his stomach stab it's insides how he usually prods at the inedible sludge he picks at at breakfast. Tom knows better than to trust it, if he didn't know the matron poisoned it herself to cull the growing number of orphans then Billy and his gang would have found a way to piss in it.

Tom sighs, his hair dark and limp with moisture. His aching right knee pressed against his naked chest and other, marbled with bruises, sprawled out on the coal dust covered floor. This exorcism had been just as, if not more, unpleasant than the last. Instead of simply splattering him with holy water they'd dunked his head under, holding him hostage there until his arms writhed to free him, his lungs screamed to breach the surface, and his mind had clouded in fear.

If not for the despicable man's wet robe catching fire he'd have died. Perhaps the visage he'd seen was his guardian angel and not Death? Performing little miracles at those who spite him, the fools who wrong him. Tom rather disliked the thought that that was all a guardian angel was capable of. After all, it all correlated to _his_ emotions... _His_ wants, _HIS_ desires. So even if the Angel was doing it, it was under Tom's power.

Picking up a stray piece of coal, Tom starts tossing it in the air. He starts counting the planks he can make out of the coal shed wall opposite him to the cadence of the little lump of coal landing in his hand. He counts to twenty before giving up and just continues counting. And when he reaches 1,000 he starts counting the days till his 17th birthday. The day that he'd burn this living hell-scape to the ground.

The day he'd get revenge on those that dared lord their power over him. The day he'd loom over those that had wronged him.

The piece of coal does not fall into his hand.

The day he'd be freed.

Tom grins victoriously, the coal floating just above his hand and turning the bright red of a fire breathing itself to life.


End file.
